#ashesinmymouth

[begladthatimnotgod]

Aftercare

I broke in front of them and they just… watched.

No towel.

No softness.

No “are you okay?”

Just silence.

Or worse — curiosity.

People love the moment you fall apart.

But they never stay to help clean it up.

[begladthatimnotgod]

Ashes Don’t Forget

The fire took everything —

burned down my past, my trust, my light.

But the ashes?

They hold the truth.

Every scar, every silent scream, every broken promise.

Ashes don’t forget.

And neither do I.

So I carry them —

not as weight, but as wisdom.

Because surviving isn’t forgetting.

It’s owning every piece of the burn.

[begladthatimnotgod]

Smoke Signals

I’m sending out smoke signals—

hoping someone reads the sky.

But all I get back is static.

I’m not sure if it’s silence or distance.

Maybe both.

Maybe it’s time I learn to read my own signs.

[begladthatimnotgod]

Silent Offerings

I laid my pain on the altar—

hands open, raw, hoping for grace.

But the room stayed cold.

They took my silence as peace,

my quiet as consent.

So now I keep my offerings close,

sacred and unseen.

Because some wounds aren’t for sharing.

They’re for guarding.

[begladthatimnotgod]

Echo Chamber

I scream into empty rooms.

My words bounce back hollow.

They hear the noise, but not the meaning.

And I wonder—

when did my pain become background noise?

When did my soul stop demanding attention?

[begladthatimnotgod]

You Didn’t Mean It

You said sorry like a reflex.

Not a reckoning.

Like it was something to cross off your list.

Not something that cracked you open.

And I felt it.

I always feel it.

I didn’t want perfection—

just proof that you gave a damn.

But you didn’t mean it.

And that told me everything.

[begladthatimnotgod]

Held My Own Hair

I’ve comforted myself so many times,

I flinch when someone tries to hold me now.

I did the work.

I sat in the dark.

I held my own hair back while I cried.

That’s why I don’t call.

That’s why I don’t trust comfort.

I don’t believe in rescue anymore.

[begladthatimnotgod]

Unsent

I typed the message three times.

Deleted it four.

Not because I didn’t want you to care—

but because I knew you wouldn’t.

You taught me to talk to walls.

To fold my feelings in half.

To swallow everything whole.

So I said nothing.

Again.

And you call that strength.

I call it survival.